


Short Grass

by MissLiz



Category: Gunsmoke
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLiz/pseuds/MissLiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kitty tried to give Matt an edge against Mannon. What if it wasn't enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue used or paraphrased from “Mannon,” Season 14 Episode 17, written by Ron Bishop, directed by Robert Butler. I don’t own these characters and I could never come up with one as evil as Mannon. 
> 
> This work is not explicit, but contains mature themes which might be disturbing or offensive to some readers.

_“I wonder what I’ll see in your eyes when he’s dead?”_

 

Kitty sat in her room and stared straight ahead while Will Mannon raged at her. Her fingertips dug into the arms of the chair she sat in, but she gave no other outward sign she heard him. It was the same chair she had been sitting in the day she put Mannon in his place. That had been a week ago, but Kitty no longer had any awareness of how much time had passed, nor did she care. He had forced her to her room some time after he and Matt faced off in front of the Long Branch and she hadn’t been out since.

“Short grass! I walked over him like a man walks over short grass!” Mannon taunted, furious that his victory over Matt hadn’t earned her respect. “A man has got to have attention to his direction, and Dillon didn’t have it. Guess his mind was on what you got under those skirts, Red.”

Kitty ignored his insults and continued to look straight ahead. It didn’t matter, anyway. Soon, nothing would.

* * *

 

Everything had happened in slow motion for her from the moment Louie had stepped through the doors of the Long Branch and told Mannon, noisily consuming pickled pig’s feet while the rest of the patrons waited with dread and disgust, “Marshal wants to see you outside.” She watched, numb, as Matt fell, raised his head and shoulders, shouted Mannon’s name, fired in vain, and dropped back to the ground. She stood frozen in place as Doc knelt beside Matt, listened to his chest with his stethoscope, and then sat motionless, his hand on Matt’s shoulder. This was not happening. How could her beloved be on the ground while Mannon still stood? She’d given Matt an edge; she’d seen it in Mannon’s reaction to her last words. Why hadn’t it worked? “Now there’s a man. A good man,” Mannon said so that only she could hear him, his voice full of irony. She had to go to Matt, but she couldn’t make her feet move. She had to get to him, convince him to live, somehow, before it was too late. She saw Doc’s shoulders slumped in defeat and knew it already was.

“Yeah. He is a good man,” she whispered without looking in Mannon’s direction. This moment didn’t belong to him; it was hers and Matt’s. She managed to break loose of her shock finally and was at his side, kneeling opposite Doc. She ran her hands over Matt’s motionless chest, pressing them against his wound, until Doc reached over and pulled them away. _He’s gone, honey_ , he told her without saying a word. She looked back at Doc, shaking her head. He must be mistaken. How could Matt be dead? His blood was still warm. Doc was trying to fool everyone, like he did that other time. He grasped her chin in one hand and forced her to look in his eyes and see the truth. He wasn’t lying and he wasn’t mistaken. “No,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, Kitty.”

Kitty pulled Matt’s head into her lap and smoothed his damp hair back. She looked into his still open eyes and watched his soul slip further, further away until it was no longer in his body but out there in some other world waiting for her. She couldn’t bear to close his eyes, but knew she must. She held one hand over them gently, wondering why she didn’t cry. She was bending over to kiss him goodbye when a pair of hands grabbed her roughly around the waist and violently jerked her to her feet.

She was barely cognizant of the fact that Mannon had the barrel of his gun at her temple, but the crowd assembled heard him drawl, with deadly calm, that if anyone came near her, they would be joining her and the marshal on the ground. Her attention was focused on the man lying in the street. On him and on the last moment together they’d been denied. Her eyes remained on him as Mannon ordered everyone present back into the Long Branch, and never left him until she was dragged through the swinging doors and and he was out of view.

Mannon forced her to sit next to him while he put away her best whiskey and bragged to his captive audience of the respect he had now that Dillon’s toes were pointed up. He had his town; he had his woman; and he had her saloon, and obviously considered the seven thousand dollars with which she’d tried to buy Matt’s life his now, too. He could choke on it as far as she was concerned. What need did she have of the Long Branch or the money it brought her now that Matt was gone?

Once again, Mannon started a poker game, ordering the men who still had money or anything of value left to ante in. Again, Kitty was compelled to sit next to him while he systematically bullied and bluffed--he had no need to actually cheat--the town out of its cash and worldly goods. All the others remained, whether in an attempt to show support to Miss Kitty, out of morbid curiosity, or simply that they were too intimidated to leave without being dismissed, none of them were quite sure. The few who dared to look in Kitty’s direction cast looks of pity or concern her way, sure that the empty look on her face was a sign of the terror she must feel now that the marshal couldn’t protect her. Those who knew her best--Doc, Sam, and to a lesser extent Newly, realized that only her body was present. The rest of her--heart, mind, and soul, was with the man who still laid motionless out on the street, waiting until someone was allowed to take care of his remains. It was nearly nightfall again when the interminable game finally came to a close. With a lewd comment and a leering glance at Kitty, Mannon stood, gripping her arm painfully as he pulled her up with him. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes but the mask remained on her face when he led her toward the stairs, tossing an order for hot water to be delivered to her room. Shocked, angry chatter followed as they started up the stairs. Mannon turned, wordlessly reaching toward his gun and the room fell silent.

Kitty, lacking the will to even try to escape, sat in the big, high-backed chair--Matt’s chair--staring at her hands as if she’d never seen them before.

He brought her a pan of heated water, telling her “Wash yourself up, Red, come the time we got to know each other some more.” She continued to look at her hands and Mannon finally realized what it was she was looking at. “You still have his blood on your hands,” he sneered contemptuously. He pushed the water closer to her. “Wash it off.” When she didn’t respond, he shoved it, splashing half the water out, and shouted “Wash it off, I said!”

“Go to hell.”

Enraged, he grabbed her hands and plunged them into the too hot water, rubbing them together to wash the blood from them. The loss of the last physical connection to Matt unleashed the rage she had been keeping under control. She pulled her hands free and grabbed the pan, throwing the contents into Mannon’s face.

“You bastard!” she screamed, and charged at him, pummeling at his chest and face with her fists. “You filthy murdering coward!”

Mannon, caught off guard only momentarily by Kitty’s sudden aggression after nearly an entire day of passivity, shoved her to the floor and pinned her down with his body. He gripped her wrists painfully, holding her hands away from him. Kitty stopped struggling against him, knowing it would increase his excitement, but she looked up at him defiantly.

“You wanted to know what you’d see in my eyes when he was dead?” she hissed at him with all the contempt she could muster. “Well, take a good, long look, because it’s the only time you’re going to see it. After this you aren’t going to see anything at all.”

“Well, that’s no matter, Red. He’s gone and I’m here. Looks like your mind’s been made up for you.”

She forced all the loathing she possessed for the man into her eyes and continued. “Think again, Mannon. He’s still more of a man than you’ll ever be, and no matter what you do to my body, I’ll never belong to you. How does it feel to lose to a dead man?”

Mannon released one of her hands and backhanded her, slamming her head back against the floor. “I oughta break your neck for that, whore!”

“Go ahead!” she retorted triumphantly. “The minute you kill me, Matt Dillon wins. _I_ win.”

“Now, how do you figure that?”

“I’ll be with him and not you,” she said with a deadly calm. Then, just as she’d promised, all expression slipped from her eyes and from that moment she ceased to react to anything he said or did to her.

Time ceased to exist for Kitty over the next few days, marked only by the time Mannon spent in her room, regaling her with tales of his exploits with Quantrill and in the Nations, crowing about his defeat of Matt, and using her as he pleased; and the time he spent away from the room. While she had largely withdrawn into herself whether Mannon was there or not, when he was gone it was easier to keep her thoughts with Matt, where they were most of the time, without his interference. Matt lying in the street; Matt alive and beautiful, sitting with her at their table, smiling the boyish smile she loved; Matt lying next to her at night, loving her; the images were never far from her mind even in the rare times she thought about her situation. She wondered from time to time how the rest of the town was doing. She knew there were some who would be brave enough to try to take down Mannon, or help her escape, but she hoped for their sakes that they wouldn’t try. The futility of attempting such a rescue wasn’t likely to stop Festus, when he could get up, or Newly, or Sam. She knew that Doc wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, that Burke would say something stupid, that even Louie could muster the courage to stand up to him, and she was afraid for them all. A few times when he was out of the room she heard gunfire and couldn’t help wondering whether she had lost someone else to Mannon’s bullet. She resigned herself to the knowledge that she had no more chance of helping them than they had of helping her. There was only one way out for her, whether it was at Mannon’s hand or her own.

Now, a week later, Mannon appeared to be winding up his latest tirade at her, which meant one of two things was about to happen. He would go out and get drunk, or, rather, drunker. He’d been drinking continuously since that first night in the Long Branch. Or he would assault her again. With every assault, and she had lost track of how many times, she had gotten better at retreating into her mind. The last time, she had left her body the minute he started in on her and hadn’t looked back. By the time she returned from revisiting happier times and places with Matt, like fishing at Silver Creek or riding on the prairie, Mannon was gone and she was lying on the floor--again. That hadn’t changed. A humorless smile touched her lips for an instant. Realizing she had found an edge of her own, she made a plan. By the looks of things, it was time to put it in motion.

He shoved her to the floor and stood over her, grinning as he reached for the top button of his pants. “Something wrong with the bed?” she asked him without expression. If he was surprised by her speaking to him for the first time since he’d taken up residence in her room, he hid it well.

“What are you goin’ on about, woman?” He scowled at her as he said it.

“A _man_ takes a woman to bed.” She looked through him as she said it, emphasizing the word she knew would have the most effect. “But an animal like you wouldn’t have any idea what to do with a woman in Matt Dillon’s bed.”

Suddenly he was on top of her, eyes bulging in fury, his hands at her throat. The room faded to black around her; the sound of his words diminishing. She could feel Matt’s presence nearby as the blackness and silence overtook her.

* * *

 

A low whimpering noise woke him. Kitty tossed restlessly in her sleep, and he pulled her close to him, trying to comfort her. “No...no,” she moaned repeatedly, and seemed not to notice he was holding her. Suddenly she began to cry “Matt, where are you?” as though her heart was broken.

“Kitty.” He spoke to her softly and gently shook her, knowing not to wake her up too abruptly. “Kitty, please wake up. I’m right here.”

He felt her fighting off the grip her nightmare held her in, and he continued to hold her, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort until she finally opened her eyes and looked at him with a bewildered expression. The question she asked him broke his heart. “Are we dead?”

“No, honey. You were dreaming.”

She brushed her fingers lightly over the bandage he still wore from Mannon’s bullet. Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands and gently stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “You’re alive,” she whispered. She wept quietly and Matt pulled her as close as his injury would permit. Kitty’s tears caused him more pain than any bullet ever did, particularly when he was the cause of them. And this time he felt he most assuredly was. He hated to see his strong, brave Kitty, so in control of her emotions in the light of day and the eye of the public, yet so frightened by whatever haunted her dreams.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked her when she was quiet.

“No.” she answered in a tiny voice.

He swallowed hard and pushed on. This had been going on too long, they had to have this conversation whether either of them wanted to or not. “Is it Mannon?”

“Yeah.”

He was sure he didn’t want the answer to the next question, and maybe she wouldn’t answer, but he still he to ask. “It was more than a beating, wasn’t it?”

It was a long time before she answered. “Uh, huh,” she mumbled, almost inaudibly, nodding her head against his chest.

“Oh, Kitty. I’m so sorry.” The burden of Kitty being hurt because of him, of failing to protect her, settled over him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt.” She slid her arm around him to stroke his back, to comfort him in the midst of her distress.

“If I’d been here I could have stopped it,” he said bitterly.

“No, Matt, he--” She stopped, realizing she couldn’t tell Matt about the edge she felt he needed.

“He what?” He waited for her to finish.

“He was crazy, Matt. He would have ambushed you.”

He nodded, though her words did nothing to assuage his guilt. Wrapped in each other’s arms, neither spoke any further. Matt let Kitty’s slow, even breathing lull him back to sleep.

Kitty lay awake awhile longer, her mind going over the events of the previous week. She had read Mannon right; her gamble had paid off. He was faster than Matt, but his aim was off and Matt’s wound, while serious, had not been life threatening, and Doc had let him go on the condition he recover in Kitty’s room. She suspected that was as much for her benefit as Matt’s in light of what Mannon had done to her. Mannon had been careless and turned his back on Matt, thinking him dead, and Matt had caught him off guard.

Still, she’d never know for sure if that edge was what saved him. She tried to think about what it would do to Matt if he found out she’d faced Mannon a second time, and didn’t like the answer she got. There was no need for him to know.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta on this, singerme.


End file.
